Certain Symmetry (5 page)

He puffed again, the sweet smoke rising to
join that of the paper and disguise its odor. The cigarillo
followed in a few moments; ashes to ashes, to further muddle any
trail.

Satisfied with his morning's work, the young
gentleman left his rooms, lightfooted and whistling.

* * *

"THAT'S PREPOSTEROUS." The man who said so
was some years Pat Rin's elder; a tea merchant who owned a
comfortable establishment in the High Port. Neither Shan nor Shan's
father, Er Thom yos'Galan--master traders, both--had been strangers
in this place, and Bed War tel'Pyton welcomed Pat Rin in the names
of his cousins.

"Alas," Pat Rin said gently, and bowed.

Master tel'Pyton had recourse to his
teacup.

"By his own hand? Forgive me, sir, but
that's powerful hard to accommodate, for the Fal Den ter'Antod I
knew was no such fool."

"I understand your perplexity," Pat Rin
murmured. "Indeed, I share it. And yet it is truly said that we
cannot know the necessities of another's secret heart."

"True," said the master. "Very true." He
sighed, gustily. "So, doubtless you've fallen heir to Fal Den's
debt-book, by which circumstance we find him once again to fail of
foolishness. Pray name the price of my transgression." He tipped
his head, apparently considering this. "I suppose it must have been
my transgression, though I'll own there's nothing in my book under
Fal Den's name. However, I'll bow to his judgment, for he was
nice--very nice--in his measurements."

Pat Rin inclined his head and brought the
book from his inner pocket. Carefully, he opened to the proper
page--an early entry--and read out the recorded circumstances.

"In the fourth relumma of the year called
Tofset, I misspoke in consultation with Master Tea Merchant Bed War
tel'Pyton. This misinformation was the direct cause of the master
ordering far too many tins of Morning Sunrise tea, which purchase
greatly reduced the profits of his business. This fault is mine,
and shall be Balanced at my earliest opportunity."

Master tel'Pyton blinked.

"Are you certain--I mean no
disrespect!--that this is the matter that lies between myself and
Fal Den? For I'll tell you, the incident was trivial when it
happened--the tea was stasis sealed for one matter, and for another
your cousin Er Thom was trading on port at the time and placed the
overbought handily, to his own profit and to mine."

"This entry is the only time that your name
appears within the debt-book," Pat Rin said delicately. "Perhaps
there is another matter...?"

"Not a bit of it," the tea merchant said
sturdily. Abruptly, he bowed, deep and excruciatingly proper. "Fal
Den leaves me in perfect harmony, sir, saving only in the matter of
his death itself, which cheats me of a friend and a valued
colleague. Pray tell his delm so, on my behalf, and write 'paid' to
the debt as recorded."

Pat Rin also bowed, closing the battered
little book and slipping it away. "I will do so, sir," he said, and
added the phrase the Code demanded of those who held this
particular death-duty: "Balance has been served--and
preserved."

* * *

THE SECOND YOUNG gentleman of leisure spent
his day profitably in the City, meeting with certain of his
business associates, of whom every one was delighted to learn of
the increase in the young gentleman's estate. He was pleased to
learn, at a certain, of course impeccable, clerical service that
his invitations had been dispatched in accordance with his very
explicit instructions. Later in the day, he dined with friends,
after which he accompanied them to an exclusive club as their
guest, where his luck held at cards and he lost only a very little
at dice.

* * *

"AND HOW DID you find Little Festival this
year, boy-dear? A tedious bore, or a grand adventure?" Luken
refilled their glasses from a bottle of Ongit's superlative
red.

Pat Rin tipped his head, considering. From
anyone else, the question might have been intended as a barb. From
one's foster father, it surely sprang from a filial interest in
himself--and gave one pause. Luken bel'Tarda was not a great
intellect, but his melant'i was spotless, and he possessed a sweet,
sure subtlety that Pat Rin found he treasured more deeply as the
years passed. It behooved one, always, to give serious
consideration to Luken's questions.

So: "I found Little Festival to be
...largely agreeable," Pat Rin said, slowly. "Though I will own to
some moments where one's mind wandered from the pure pursuit of
pleasure to matters of business. And of course, some bits were
nothing short of terrifying." He picked up his glass and swirled
the wine, idly, eyes on the movement of the dark red liquid. "Of
course, you've heard of Shan and Val Con's victory at the skimmer
field?"

Luken grinned. "From the
newspaper and from your mother, too.
She
predicts a wastrel lifetime for
both, sinking ever further from Code and kin." He sipped his wine.
"No fear there, I think. Young Val Con tells me
he's
no intention of continuing along
the line of skimmers--too wearing by half! And Shan has put the
craft up for sale, now that his point's been taken."

He did not say, as one's mother would
assuredly have done, 'No doubt with his eye already upon some other
mad enterprise.'

"You've seen Val Con, then?" This was
interesting; had the young cousin left the wiles of Festival to do
family duty?

"Oh, aye, he was by this morning. We shared
a bite of breakfast and a catch-up." Luken sipped.

Last seen, Val Con had been engaged to
attend a piece of business that must assuredly have kept him until
very late in the evening, if Pat Rin had read the set of the lady's
face a-right. To have arisen from the double exertions of the race
and the pleasure tents early enough to share breakfast with
dawn-rising Luken--well. Surely, the young cousin became a
paragon.

"He's a good lad," Luken said comfortably.
"The Scouts agree with him, which was the same with his
father."

"One's mother swears him the spit of her
brother."

"Does she, now?" Luken paused, doubtless
considering the issue from all sides, and finally moved a hand in
negation. "I won't say there isn't an edge here and
there--especially upon an ascent to the boughs, you know--but I do
believe Er Thom has achieved other than a facsimile of Daav. No
disrespect meant to your mother, dear."

Pat Rin smiled. "Certainly not."

The service door opened at that juncture,
admitting their waiter, bearing deserts. By the time these were
accommodated, and the finishing wine poured, Luken had introduced
the subject of Pat Rin's current projects.

He sighed. "Alas, I've been named an
instrument of Balance."

Luken looked at him, glass arrested half-way
to his lips. "I wonder that you took the time to dine with me. You
could have set another day, boy-dear. Thirty-six hours is little
enough to right all the wrongs that might be made in a
lifetime."

"Happily, I'm set to Balance the life of a
meticulous man," Pat Rin said. "There were only four outstanding
debts, and I've managed to lay three today." He inclined his head,
self-mocking. "Behold me, industrious."

"I allow that to be tolerably industrious,"
Luken said, apparently quite serious. "Most likely you'll stop on
your way home this evening and put paid to the last."

"Would that I were that fortunate. The
fourth is likely to be the end of my own melant'i, if you will have
it."

"As knotty as that?" Luken put his glass
aside. "You might honorably consult an elder of your Clan. I happen
to be an elder of your Clan, in case you had forgot it."

"Yes, very likely. In the meanwhile, I've no
idea how knotty the thing may be, the notation being somewhat ...
murky. You might say I should simply throw myself upon the honor of
the debt-partner, which I might do, had I one idea of who she may
be."

"Surely you've checked the Book of
Clans--ah!" Luken caught himself up. "Perhaps the lady is Terran,
boy-dear. You'll want the Census."

"The lady's name appears to be Liaden," Pat
Rin said, "though I do have a request in to Terran Census, so every
wager is covered." He pulled Fal Den's debt book from his sleeve
pocket and flipped to the page.

"Betea sen'Equa is the person for whom--" He
glanced up at a slight sound from Luken, who seemed to have lost
color. "Father?"

"For whom do you Balance?" Luken asked, and
his tone was much cooler than Pat Rin was wont to hear from his
foster father.

"For Fal Den ter'Antod, Clan Imtal, found
dead by his own hand last evening. The book arrived in this
morning's mail."

"Hah." Luken relaxed visibly. "I had read
that. Bad business. And he notes a Balance with sen'Equa? Boy-dear,
I must ask if you are certain of the notation."

Wordlessly, Pat Rin handed him the
debt-book.

For several heartbeats, Luken frowned down
at the note, then sighed, closed the book and handed it back.

"Betea sen'Equa, certain enough, though how
one of Imtal came to--there, it's none of mine. And distressed I am
to find it one of yours, lad."

"I apprehend that you are familiar with the
lady--or at the least, the lady's kin."

"Oh, I know who they are -
there was a time when everyone knew who they were, though I see
that's no longer the case. They had used to be Terran--I recall
being told that the family name is ancient
Terran--
Seneca
.
They set up in Port, and carried on just as if they were still on
any Terran world you like--which meant they married oddly, mostly
of Terrans, you see, and took no care to establish their
Clan."

"Which is why I don't find them in the Book
of Clans."

"Nor in Terran Census, either." Luken
sighed. "In anywise, boy-dear, if it's sen'Equa you want, it's to
Low Port you'll go."

"Ah, will I? How delightful." Pat Rin
slipped Fal Den's debt book into his sleeve and absently took up
his wine glass. "I wonder what trade it is that Family sen'Equa
follows?"

Luken moved his shoulders. "Why, they began
in mechanical and electronics repair, with a side in the gaming
business. The repair work led them to vending machines, you see,
and an exclusive contract with dea'Linea. Then, when dea'Linea
incepted that tedious scandal and got ruined by way of it, sen'Equa
sued for such holdings as remained--in payment of their contract. I
was myself involved as a trustee of the dissolution, and saw the
paperwork. sen'Equa received only the most meager of
settlements--well, they had no one to speak for them. So, unless
they have moved far forward--or backward--sen'Equa owns properties
in Mid-Port and in Low-Port, in the form of several small gambling
houses."

"Oh," Pat Rin said, and very nearly smiled.
"Do they?"

* * *

SHE HAD READ the letter
thrice, more alarmed each time. A
party
, here, at House of Chance?
Worse, a party composed, or so he would have her understand,
entirely of those who made High Port--aye, and the city beyond
it--their home? All very well and good to bring in one or three at
a time, filling the private rooms, to her profit. But, a party of
three to four
dozen
lord-and-ladyships? It was...

...frightening.

Betea sen'Equa was not a
woman of fragile nerve, nor was hers an imaginative nature. Yet
this latest letter from Hia Cyn--this
proposed--engaged--event--
felt
wrong
. Gods' mercy that her grandmother was
dead, and Betea did not have to go before her with such feeble
misgivings in her heart.

"Hitch your fortune to the High Port," that
redoubtable old lady had been wont to say, "and the cantra will
flow into your pocket."

Which had doubtless been true in the old
days, when her grandmother, with the assistance of various patrons,
added three houses to the sen'Equa holdings--one in High Port
itself.

Grandmother's wisdom had likewise served
Betea's mother, who had added another Mid-Port house to the chain
before a drunken quarrel with her latest patron left her dead.

After that came Betea's aunt, who decreed
that sen'Equa had no need of patrons; that sen'Equa houses would
henceforth pay for themselves, with no dependence on those who sat
high.

It had been a worthy dream,
Betea thought so even now. But her aunt in her grief over the loss
of her sister had reckoned without worldly realities. sen'Equa had
no standing among the Clan-bound, nor ever had. Oh, they paid
taxes, in return of which they were guaranteed the protections and
services of the Port. But they had no
social
standing, and no one was
obliged to either sell, or treat with them at fair cost.

Or pay a death-price, for kin who were
murdered.

It had been fair market prices and rent that
the names of the wealthy patrons had purchased for sen'Equa, and by
the time her aunt realized that, the house in High Port had
faltered and was closed.

Her aunt then did what no other of their
family had done--she left the Port and went into the city, to apply
for a Name from the Council of Clans.

But to become a Name, there must be a Name
willing to sponsor the applicant to the Council. A patron, in
fact--and Betea's aunt would have none of patrons.

So, now it was Betea and two houses
left--their starting place in Low Port, where Uncle Tawm ruled, and
the House of Chance in the Terran section of Mid-Port. Terrans
scarce cared what your name was--or if you had a name at all, so
long as your cantra was good. They sold to Betea as they would to
any other business on the street--yes, and came by in the evening
or ahead of their morning shifts, to wager a bit on the wheel,
perhaps, or buy into a game of cards.